Unresolved
by MillionMoments
Summary: A Richard/Camille ficlet series. Please see author's note in first chapter.
1. Charm Offensive

A/N: This is a series of short scenes and one shots of interactions between Richard and Camille with the common theme of most of them never going beyond flirting and unresolved sexual tension. I say most as I may write the odd thing that does but is short so would be better off in this collection than as a standalone story.

* * *

Charm Offensive

Summary: Camille discovers Richard has been keeping one particular talent well hidden.

* * *

Camille understood that nurses were one of the categories of people who were dedicated and brilliant yet overworked and underpaid. It was something they shared in common with the Royal Saint Marie Police Force, which you think would create a certain level of camaraderie. Last night the hospital had treated a man in the A & E whom Camille and Richard now suspected committed an assault earlier in the day. The nurses were in no way culpable, but were still giving Camille rather brusque and vague responses that were not going to help them track down the individual in question.

She met Richard, who had been in the security office reviewing CCTV, in the foyer of the hospital and proceeded whinge about her lack of progress. "They just don't seem to have any time for me." She complained mildly. "Maybe we should send Dwayne in and he can charm the information out of them!"

It was meant to be a joke, but Richard actually looked quite thoughtful at the suggestion. When he opened his mouth, she did think he was going to ask her to call Dwayne, but instead something entirely unexpected came out, "Let me try first."

Camille's jaw dropped, and she was sure she must have misheard him. Before she could ask what on earth he was thinking, he was already walking purposefully towards the nurses stations. She couldn't help but feel like she was about to witness a car crash. Was it being voyeuristic to try and edge forward and overhear what Richard was actually saying? Whilst she was considering how to get away with it, she realised something startling. Richard was smiling at the nurse, a proper full on and really quite attractive smile – and the nurse was smiling right back at him!

Whilst Richard claimed body language left him completely befuddled, Camille was not shy in admitting she was quite good at interpreting it. The way Richard was leaning on the counter towards the nurse, carefully maintaining eye contact and occasionally laughing – the way the nurse was fiddling with her hair and unconsciously straitening her uniform – Dear God, he was actually _flirting_. He knew how to flirt! Ok, so admittedly, the two of them had had a couple of interactions in the past that could be filled in the flirting category – but they were so few and far between Camille had always assumed he had sort of done it by accident.

A few minutes later he returned and told Camille, "She overheard somebody in one of the cubicles on the phone, who she is 90% sure is our suspect, talking about going to Dominica to hide out for a while. We should probably send the authorities there a description." His tone was entirely professional, and he had suddenly transformed back into the Detective Inspector she knew so well. Though the nurse was looking after him with something akin to longing, Richard walked straight out of the hospital without a backwards glance. Camille noticed the poor woman look disappointed – well, she clearly didn't know what she would have been getting herself into with Richard! Mind, Camille wasn't sure she did either now…not that, uh oh, her thoughts should _not_ be going there.

Richard was looking impatient next to the Defender when she reached it, "Come on, Camille, those reports don't write themselves!"

"I…" she began, then shook her head and unlocked the vehicle. Climbing behind the wheel she realised that there was no way for her to let this go. She decided to use the short drive back to the station to find out exactly what she had just witnessed. "What was that?" She asked bluntly.

Richard hesitated, clearly realising what she was talking about but choosing to feign ignorance anyway, "What was what?"

"That, with the nurse," she prompted.

He kept his facial expression neutral and said, "I was just interviewing her about the suspect."

"I think there was more than just interview technique in use!" she said, a little frustrated that he was trying to avoid the subject.

"Sometimes the use of…" he paused, carefully considering his words. "The use of charm is necessary to put a potential witness at ease." She felt it was worth taking her eyes off the road for a moment to shoot a look at him. He huffed and then actually sounded rather indignant when he continued, "I suppose you just assumed I was completely without charm!"

"No!" She protested. "I thought your style was just, um, less traditional than what I witnessed."

"Well if _you_ spent as much time as a probationary constable dropping off drunks at the A & E and picking them up again as I did, you would realise that charming nurses is a key skill in order to survive."

"Well if _you_ know how to be so charming then why aren't you like that the rest of the time?" She was relieved her brain did not betray her and have her say "like that with me" instead.

"Oh God, it's far too exhausting. All that saying things you don't mean in order to get what you want. I mean why can't a simple please and thank you be enough? Or some respect for the job we are trying to do? Honest to God Camille the world would be a much better place if flirting wasn't necessary and I'll tell you something else…"

"OK!" She half shouted, cutting him off mid-rant. "Ok, I think I get the point." Thankfully they were now pulling up outside the station. She brought the car to a stop, but before he got out of the seat (and before her better judgement could prevent her) she turned to him and said cheekily, "You should try it on me sometime."

He looked at her carefully, and Camille smiled so he would know she was only teasing. After a few moments a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as well, and he said quietly, "I wouldn't dare."

"What's that supposed to mean?!" She protested mildly. "Afraid my mother will tell you off for flirting with me?"

"Your mother is quite scary," he said flatly. She moved to hit him playfully for his cheek, but he expertly blocked the move, flashing her a triumphant grin. "Actually it's more because you are far too smart to ever fall for it, and I know it. You would see straight through me."

Camille found she was a little flustered by the compliment. She was aware she may be blushing. She reached up a hand to nervously tuck her hair behind her ears, whilst desperately trying to think of a suitable response – something that wouldn't break moment they were having.

The realisation struck her in the middle of the hair tuck. Her face lost the shy smile it had been sporting and instead she sighed and shook her head at him fondly, "I can't _believe_ that worked!"

"Forget that! _I _can't believe I wasted the only opportunity for it to work on _this_!" There was a note of irritation in his tone, and he had thrown his hands up in the air, but he also looked quite smug. He gave her one last lopsided grin (which did something very funny to her stomach) and got out of the car. As he walked away, Camille only had one thought on her mind.

When would he have preferred to use it?


	2. Betelgeuse

Betelgeuse

Summary: Richard takes the time to try and show Camille something wondrous.

A/N: Any astronomy mistakes are my own.

* * *

They had knocked off at six, with Fidel and Dwayne intending to head over to her mother's bar and Richard dithering about whether he would join them or not. Camille was running a little behind, needing to send off some reports to the neighbouring islands, so told them she would see them over there. She was all done in the space of 15 minutes, and humming happily to herself gathered her things up and walked out of the door – and very nearly straight into her boss. He was standing on the veranda of the station, briefcase in hand, staring at the sky with an expression she could only describe as wondrous.

"Look," he told her, without acknowledging her presence in any other way, merely raising a hand to point at the night sky.

Though there was more light pollution in the centre of Honore than there was at, say, his little beach hut – Camille instantly knew what he was referring to, "Oh my God, it's so bright! What is it, some sort of meteorite?" Her only other idea was perhaps a plane on fire, but given Richard's level of fascination and lack of action, an astronomical explanation was more likely.

"It's actually the same intensity of the sun," he told her. After a thoughtful pause he added, "I probably shouldn't have been staring directly at it for so long." He heeded his own advice and tore his gaze away from the sky. Blinking rapidly, he turned to face her, smiling with genuine joy. "It's Betelgeuse," he told her, as if that should be explanation enough. Camille suspected he knew that she didn't know what that meant, and was secretly hoping she would ask so he could go off on one of his science lectures. Given the fact he was still looking like a kid on Christmas morning, she decided to give in straight away rather than teasing him for a bit.

"And what is beetlejuice then?" She deliberately fudged the name.

"_Betelguese_," he emphasised with a small sigh. "Well until recently it was a red supergiant and part of the constellation of Orion. Astrophysicists predicted it would go supernova soon but in astronomy terms 'soon' could be any time in the next million years or so. But it's happened _now,_" he finished intently. "I never imagined it would happen in my lifetime, that I would actually get to see it. Isn't that fantastic?"

She smiled up at him, his excitement infectious. For a few moments, he held her gaze, and Camille felt a very different kind of excitement building in the pit of her stomach. Then he seemed to realise that, like the star, he may have been looking at her directly to long. He cleared his throat awkwardly, turning back around the regard the sky again. Camille was surprised by the intensity of the frustration that shot through her, and she decided to try to recreate the intimacy they had just been sharing.

"Well, if it could have happened anytime in the next one million years…" she began, forcing a note of casualness into her tone even though nerves were wracking her body. "I guess the odds of it happening now were pretty slim then?"

"Astronomical." He said it so dryly Camille thought it may have been unintentional, but then she spotted a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth and she relaxed, smiling back and giving a friendly nudge with her shoulder.

"Ha, ha," she told him, though she aimed for sarcastic there was genuine amusement in her tone - she could tell how pleased he was with himself for making her smile. "So," she began, still with enforced casualness. "I suppose this is pretty special then?"

"It really is," he agreed, still looking up and marvelling at the sky.

"Nice to share it with someone," it was meant to be a statement, but her anxieties made it sound more like a suggestion.

Nervously, his eyes darted away from the sky to land on her face for a merest of moments before he looked away again. She saw him swallow, thought perhaps he was being plagued by the same dry thought and physical symptoms that seemed to have hit her. After a few tense moments where Camille become convinced he would ignore her, he finally responded, "Yes, um, it is."

Relived and incredibly pleased by his positive response, Camille slowly reached out a hand towards him – intending to take hold of his. Before she could he abruptly turned around and said to her, "Of course it's going to be like this now for ages so loads of people will get to appreciate it."

Barely resisting the urge to roll her eyes at Richard's ability to say entirely the wrong thing, she dropped her hand and took half a step back. The moment – or at least the potential for a moment – was completely lost. She was beginning to think the chances of anything happening between them were pretty astronomical as well. Glancing about her, she said, "Hey, didn't Dwayne and Fidel leave at the same time as you? Where are they?" She would have thought Richard would have delayed them to treat them to the same lecture, the show off in him simply would not be able to resist. In fact she was surprised she didn't over hear it, or get dragged out earlier so he could explain things to all three of them at once. The man liked an audience on occasion.

"Oh, I, um, sent them off ahead," he seemed embarrassed, as if she had caught him doing something he probably shouldn't have been doing. "I thought I'd wait for you so I could, um, you know, show you."

"Oh." _Oh. _He had sent Dwayne and Fidel off so he could tell her, share the moment with her, _alone_. "Right," she continued, smiling brightly. "Shall we go have a celebratory 'Betelgeuse just went supernova drink' then?"

"Well, technically it didn't_ just_ happen, it happened 640 years ago and the light has only just…" he trailed off under her stare, and instead just nodded mutely. They walked down the stairs together. Perhaps there was a chance something could happen between them after all, preferably with a timescale shorter than sometime in the next million years…

* * *

A/N: Considering writing this again, but from Richard's prospective.


	3. Betelgeuse 2

Betelgeuse 2

Summary: Sharing the Supernova from Richard's prospective

A/N: Once again, astronomy mistakes are me being an idiot.

* * *

It was six, and time they all went home really, except home was not exactly where he was expected to head. Dwayne, Fidel and Camille were all trying to coerce him into going to Catherine's bar, but he'd spent the afternoon vaguely considering a pleasant evening with Lucy and, apart from the lizard, on his own. Thus he was hesitant about accepting, but eventually gave in because he was _trying_ to get better at being social. In the end he only really had to stay for the one drink to qualify at being friendly. An errant image entered his mind, in it he explains that he is leaving to view the occultation of Venus behind the moon, and Camille would expresses an interest in also seeing it so he takes her back to his place and…_he should not be thinking about that sort of thing_.

As he left, disappointed Camille was not coming with them immediately but trying not to show it, he gazed longingly up at the sky…and spotted something amazing. He came to an abrupt stop, at first assuming he had imagined it…no, it was definitely there, exactly where you would expect it to be. He pulled out his phone that sent him text messages of BBC new alerts, to find one confirming what he was looking at was what he thought it was.

His lack of progress off the veranda had been noticed by Dwayne and Fidel, the latter of which cautiously enquired, "Sir, are you ok?"

He opened his mouth to tell them, and then that thought from earlier crossed his mind again…this was way better than an occultation, it was amazing. And, well, the boys clearly just wanted to go for their drink, "Um, you go ahead, I just want get something else."

Richard didn't fail to notice the two officers share a smirk, before Dwayne gave a small shrug and went off with Fidel trailing close behind. They probably thought he was just trying to get out of drinks. Richard considered going inside to get Camille straight away, but he just couldn't quite take his eyes off it. It was amazing, seeing a supernova in his lifetime. If he was the sort of man who made a bucket list this would be on it. Sort of made him question if other things he would put on his theoretical bucket list weren't so out of reach after all.

He wasn't sure how long he was standing there, staring up at the burning remnants of Betelgeuse, when Camille finally emerged. He heard her leaving largely because she was humming cheerily to herself, and got the impression she had very nearly walked straight into him. Richard wasn't quite ready to look away yet, so instead just pointed up and said simply, "Look."

She spotted it straight away, "Oh my God, it's so bright! What is it, some sort of meteorite?"

She was certainly right about the first part, "It's actually the same intensity as the sun," he told her. These words reminded him of how many times he had lectured other people not to look directly at the sun, because of the damage it would do to their eyes. Certainly Betelgeuse was smaller, but staring at it for as long as he was he did risk damage. He tore his gaze away, blinking rapidly but the imprint was still there and probably would be for some time. He turned to Camille for the first time, aware he may actually be smiling like an idiot, and told her, "It's Betelgeuse."

Richard didn't fail to notice the lack of comprehension on her face despite his explanation. Basically, he was giving her an out, she could just go 'oh that's nice' and then swan off to her mother's bar to enjoy the company men far more suitable for her than he. What he was hoping, though, is that she would ask what he meant, want him to explain further. He looked at her keenly, trying to spy any hints of which direction she would go in.

Eventually she gave a small smile and asked, "And what is beetlejuice then?"

He suspected she had deliberately fudged the name in an attempt to ire him, so he tried not to let it show that it did but a small sigh still escaped. "_Betelgeuse_. Well, until recently it was a red supergiant and part of the constellation of Orion. Astrophysicists predicted it would go supernova soon but in astronomy terms 'soon' could be any time in the next million years or so." He knew he was getting really excited again, probably sounded like he was showing off, but he simply couldn't help himself. "But it's happened _now_. I never imagined it would happen in my lifetime, that I would actually get to see it. Isn't that fantastic?"

She was looking up at him, giving him one of the most beautiful smiles he had ever seen in his life – a smile that could compete with the brightness of a supernova. He found himself strangely unwilling to look away and break her gaze and realised quite a lot of the excitement he felt was not necessarily about the supernova anymore. His heart rate shot up about 20 beats a moment and then - then his courage failed him. Clearing his throat, his quickly turned around to look at the sky again and prayed she didn't spot the way he was flushing. Richard cursed his awkwardness, had no idea what to do or say next. Behind him, he felt Camille shifting, taking a step towards him.

"Well, if it could have happened anytime in the next one million years…" she began casually. "I guess the odds of it happening now were pretty slim then?"

"Astronomical," he replied smoothly. Richard knew the pun was a bad one, but he couldn't help himself. His peripheral vision showed Camille regarding him with a certain level of disbelief, probably unsure if he had said it on purpose. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth and the realisation dawned on her face.

"Ha ha," she replied, nudging him with her shoulder. Camille may have been trying to act unaffected, but he could tell she was amused really. The fact he was able to make her smile gave him the sort of thrill that he tried not to think about, because then he might have to acknowledge his feelings and that would hardly be very English, would it?

"So I suppose this is pretty special then?"

As he continued to marvel at the site, he told her sincerely, "It really is."

"Nice to share it with someone?"

His heartbeat, which had only just returned to its normal rate, shot back up again. It had sounded like a question. Was she asking him if he was enjoying sharing this with her? Or was it just a passing comment? Did she actually expect a response? It was going to be difficult to supply one – his mouth had gone entirely dry. Swallowing, he desperately considered his response, aware that the longer he took the worse it looked. Eventually he convinced himself to reply, "Yes, um, it is." Gosh, surely his most eloquent moment! Suddenly he realised the implications of his statement and that he was _assuming_ she was trying to create intimacy when it may not be the case at all. Terrified he turned around abruptly and said, in an attempt to dismiss his previous comment, "Of course it's going to be like this now for ages so loads of people will get to appreciate it."

He thought he caught a look of disappointment flash across her face, but then he had never been good at interpreting emotions. She glanced around her, then with a small frown asked, "Hey, didn't Dwayne and Fidel leave at the same time as you? Where are they?"

Oh great, this was going to be difficult to explain. He knew he should have kept Fidel and Dwayne behind to explain it to them too, but he just got caught up in the – _God help him _– romance of the idea of sharing it with Camille. Well, maybe he'd get lucky and she wouldn't cotton on, "Oh, I, um, sent them off ahead," he was aware that his embarrassment was showing despite his best efforts. "I thought I'd wait for you so I could, um, you know, show you."

He quickly looked down at the floor and heard her respond, "Oh." Well, that wasn't very dramatic. He dared to look back up at her, was surprised when he saw her smiling brightly and looking _pleased_. The evidence did seem to be mounting that she had, well, enjoyed the 'moment' with him. "Shall we go have a celebratory 'Betelgeuse just went supernova drink' then?" She asked.

Richard's pedantic nature got the better of him, "Well, technically it didn't_ just_ happen, it happened 640 years ago and the light has only just…" The hard look he was receiving caused him to trail off. Rather than risk angering her further, he simply nodded mutely and the followed her closely down the stairs. Unconsciously all this time, he had been doing the maths at the back of his mind, and had worked out the actual chance that Betelgeuse would have gone supernova in his lifetime. There was a time he would have thought that sort of number also applied to anything happening between him and Camille, but now he thought the odds were looking a hell of a lot better.

* * *

A/N: For me, it is interesting I wrote an extra 500 words from Richard's prospective.


	4. Equinophobia

Title: Equinophobia

Summary: After all the things Camille had forced Richard to do, it was about time for a little role reversal.

* * *

They got to call over the car radio when they were on their way back from interviewing a witness to an assault. There had been a small arson at the Christie Farm Park.

"Yeah, we'll take it, we're only a mile away," he told Dwayne. Camille looked surprised he wanted to deal with such a minor issue, but Richard thought it would be rather wasteful to send Fidel and Dwayne out when he and Camille were so close to the scene. Plus the interviews had been a complete bust, the supposed witness far too drunk at the time to provide them with any useful details, and he was feeling so frustrated that he could use something else to sink his teeth into.

"You sure you want us to deal with this?" Camille asked, seemingly reluctant.

"Well we might as well. This place isn't a proper farm, is it?"

"No," Camille said, biting her lip as she took the turning. "It's like a farm theme park, for families with young children. It has a petting zoo and a playground and such. It's been here for years, since before I was born."

"Oh right then, so if your mother forces me to look at another photo album I might spot a picture of you cuddling a goat here?" He asked, joking, as they pulled up - but Camille failed to reply. She seemed to be mentally preparing herself for something. Richard's first thought that was perhaps some ex-boyfriend she would rather not see worked here. Well, he was sure if that was the case she could manage to remain professional.

Richard got out, looking around. The fire couldn't be so bad, the place was still open for business. "Oh they do pony rides as well," he said, indicating the field behind Camille. She didn't turn around to look though, just nodded and marched off in the direction of the main office.

* * *

Richard didn't have to be at the scene long to establish there was no way they would catch whoever had set fire to the shed. There was no CCTV on the site and anybody could walk up to the place in the middle of the night without facing too many obstacles. It had probably been bored teenagers. Whilst he wrote up a crime number for the farm's manager, Camille wandered off to coo at the goats. He didn't really understand what she found cute about them. They were smelly and aggressive, and he had acted quickly to send the one that had been at the station off to a more suitable location. He had suggested the abattoir, but he believed Fidel had convinced an animal sanctuary to take it in.

"Camille!" He called from outside of the shed. He didn't want to step inside in case the goats started chewing on his trouser leg – or worse. She looked up and acknowledged him, but didn't seem in a hurry to join him. "Come on!"

He strode off towards the Defender, but paused before he unlocked it. The kids had stopped riding now and the pony, or possibly small horse, was grazing. Richard figured if Camille could have five minutes playing with goats he could pet the bloody pony. As soon as he got near the fence the animal trotted over, probably hopeful he would have a polo or an apple hidden somewhere on him. Sadly that was not the case, but the pony accepted his lack of food offering graciously and still allowed himself to be petted. He had expected Camille would join him since she hadn't seemed in a hurry to get back to work but when she didn't he looked around and realised she was sitting in the vehicle waiting for him, staring directly ahead. He gave the pony one last friendly pat on the neck and went to join her.

As soon as he had sat down, Camille went, "Let's go then!" She was pulling off before he had actually finished putting his seatbelt on.

"Camille!" He cried indignantly, and she muttered something that might have been an apology.

A few tense minutes passed. She nearly always talked when they were driving, and Richard wasn't sure what to make of the silence. He began to mentally review the morning to see if he had perhaps unwittingly offended her, but he drew a blank. Eventually she broke the silence, "So you _like_ horses, then?" There was a note of accusation in her tone that he didn't understand. He knew the French ate horse, but didn't think that was the reason she would be annoyed at him for petting one…

"Uh, yes, ever since I was a child. My school actually had its own stables. Horses were sometimes better company than the other boys. I haven't ridden in years though." This last statement caused her to shudder, as if the thought of horse riding was repulsive to her. Suddenly, he realised why Camille might be acting so strange. "Are you scared of _horses_?"

"I'm not scared of them, I just don't like them," she snapped. Richard was pretty sure she _was_ scared of them, but decided to let that little fiction go.

"Why on earth wouldn't you like horses?"

"Why wouldn't you like snakes?" She shot straight back, though Richard didn't think the comparison was in any way fair.

"Camille, snakes are poisonous and kill people. I think being, uh, nervous of them is perfectly acceptable. Horses on the other hand are domesticated, intelligent and beautiful creatures."

"Horses can kill you!" She cried. "They are massive, I bet they could eat you if they wanted to."

Okay, that statement gave away the extent of her phobia. "That is ridiculous Camille, I have never heard of a horse _eating_ somebody before."

"Fine but they could kick you in the head and kill you that way," she announced triumphantly, and he had to admit she was correct on that front.

"Fine, I suppose I wouldn't advise you to go near any horses that aren't properly broken in but those ones at the Farm Park have excellent temperaments, I mean they are suitable for children to ride for God's sake! They are perfectly safe." His reasonable argument fell on death ears, Camille ignored him completely and concentrated on driving. Richard decided to try another tact, "Why are you scared of them?" He assumed there must have been some sort of traumatic childhood experience along the line.

Camille just turned the conversation back around again, "Why are _you_ scared of snakes?"

He hesitated for a moment, and then admitted, "My cousin Ella put an adder in my sleeping bag when we were little. It was cold when she caught it so it was too sleepy to move, but it soon warmed up and bit me. I had to spend the day in hospital." He was unable to prevent the shiver as he recalled the memory of waking to realise something was moving in his sleeping bag. "So why are you scared of horses?"

His admission has the desired effect, and Camille felt obligated to share the reason, "_Maman_ took me to that Farm Park when I was, oh I don't know – before I started school anyway. I tried to give this horse an apple but it put my whole hand in its mouth! It was _horrible_, a really MASSIVE horse and I thought it was going to bite my whole hand off! Luckily _Maman_ pulled me away before it did."

"It was very unlikely to have _actually_ bitten your hand off Camille." He managed to keep the sarcasm from his tone, aware that she had been polite enough not to laugh at his story. "And it probably wasn't even that big, it just seemed it because you were small," he continued to try and reason.

"You don't know that!" She was angry now, and distracted enough that she hit a massive rut in the road and lifted them both from their seats. Richard decided to drop the subject for the moment, but was already forming an alternative plan of action.

* * *

A few days later Dwayne and Fidel drove Camille down to his bungalow. They called ahead to warn him that she was quite frankly suspicious, which he supposed he should have expected. Richard still hadn't decided if what he had planned was actually a good idea, but for reasons he probably shouldn't examine too closely he had found he was uncomfortable with the idea of her despising horses when he is sort of quite fond of them. Further justification came from the fact it was probably about time they had a little role reversal, he couldn't resist the opportunity to be the brave one for once.

When she rounded the corner and saw what is waiting for her she promptly turned around and marched off again. She was caught by Dwayne, but would not agree to be led back. Richard had to leg it over there to start to convince her otherwise, because he was pretty certain she could floor Dwayne if she so desired.

"How could you do this?" He heard her spit at Dwayne when he got within ear shot.

"The Chief promised me beer. Besides, I agree with him, you can't go about being scared of horses Camille. Not at your age!" Dwayne gave Camille an encouraging smile and then left to join Fidel on the veranda where there was, in fact, beer.

"I am not speaking to you," Camille said as soon as they were alone.

"Excellent," he replied. "Then you won't interrupt me for once when I am trying to explain something." He paused, expecting her to refute that, but she remained staring stubbornly at the ground. Richard realised she was doing her best not to show just how scared she was and guilt shot through him – but he knew deep down he was doing this for her own good. "Right then, I thought you might like the opportunity to get over your fear. Marcus over there," he said, indicating the man holding on to the reigns of a palomino mare. "Is currently in possession of the horse with the best temperament I have ever met. The only thing on this island more laid back than that horse is Dwayne."

The last comment caused her to smile, but Camille deliberately turned away in an attempt to prevent him from seeing it. He sighed, "Come on Camille, think of all the things I didn't want to do but did for you." She lifted her head and raised an eyebrow at his comment. He quickly corrected himself, "_Because_ of you. Stuff you made me do. Oh you know what I mean!"

She glanced quickly at the horse and then muttered, "I don't, um, need to touch it near its mouth do I?"

He is surprised by how happy her question makes him, "No, no we can start with the neck. Horses like being patted on the neck." He immediately loped off towards Marcus and the horse, then realised Camille was following much more reluctantly so slowed in order to wait for her. She stopped a good 10 metres from the horse, and Richard decided perhaps introductions were in order.

"Right, Camille, this is Honey. She's 18 years old and like polos, rolling in dirt and long canters on the beach," The last bit was supposed to be a joke, but Camille was too busy staring at Honey with barely suppressed horror to notice. "You are going to have to come a bit closer in order to touch her," he suggested gently, worried that he sounded a bit too much like he was talking to a child.

"I think I am just fine here," she replied. He bit back a sigh, and exchanged a look with Marcus who merely shrugged in response. Neither of them were psychologists.

"I could distract her with mints whilst you petted her, if that would help," he offered tentatively.

Camille closed her eyes, looking resigned, and with a small sigh said, "Yes, I suppose." She took a few cautious steps forward holding her hand out directly in front of her so she could touch Honey whilst being the maximum distance possible away still. Richard fed Honey mints and spoke to her in a soothing voice which he half hoped would also work on Camille. Just before her hand touched the horse Camille screwed her eyes shut and then finally made contact. Richard realised he was holding his breath as he watched her hesitantly - well it was more tapping than petting, but she was doing it anyway!

"Oh," said Camille, opening her eyes. "She's quite soft." Her fingers became less reluctant, and she started stroking the horse in a more traditional manner. "It's not that bad really."

He was unable to keep the triumphant smile off his face, "Right, where is the hat?"

"Hat?" Camille asked, confused.

"Yeah, you can have a go at riding her now. Don't worry Marcus uses her all the time for beginners!" He explained brightly, then realised Camille was looking at him in dread as she backed rapidly away.

"Richard, touching the horse does _not_ mean I want to ride the horse!" She cried. "There is no way I am getting on that things back. I appreciate you are trying to help but no. Just no."

"Oh come on, then you can properly say you are over your fear. It's like immersion therapy, I read all about it. I'll be holding the reigns and leading her and I'm not going to let the horse gallop off with you." He held out the helmet but she didn't make any move to take it from him. He needed to come up with another option and fast.

"Do you have another?" He asked Marcus as he strapped on the riding helmet.

Marcus didn't answer his question directly, "You aren't seriously going to ride her in that suit, are you?"

"It's only few a minutes, it'll be fine." He was relieved when he managed to get onto the saddle without losing any dignity, even though it is 20 years since he last rode a horse. On the porch, Fidel was wearing a shocked look and Dwayne was trying hard not to laugh – he probably did look a bit of an idiot in the helmet. Honey barely acknowledged his weight, instead she carried on chewing the mint she had just been given. "See, she doesn't mind. You could get on behind me," he suggested to Camille.

She looked like she was fighting some great, mental battle. Eventually she nodded tightly. Marcus was a gentleman and helped her up behind Richard, where upon she grabbed him so tightly he was a little worried she was going to do damage. Richard could hear her breathing hard and fast, but then when no disaster immediately happened she seemed to calm down. Eventually she asked, "Well, aren't we going to move somewhere?"

"I would, but you have sort of pinned my arms to my side making it a little difficult," he told her. With an embarrassed little laugh she managed to let go enough that he could take hold of the reigns properly, but was still gripping him pretty tightly. Richard tried not to think about the fact he rather liked it, and was glad she couldn't see his face. Dwayne caught his eye though, offering a wink and a knowing smile. Richard glared back, which only caused Dwayne to start laughing.

"Right, um, I guess we'll just go a couple of hundred metres down the beach and then back. Ok?"

Camille made a small noise that was half ascent, half fear. When Honey started off at a sedate speed she somehow managed to press herself closer to him – and this time he didn't try to keep the smile off his face.


	5. A Better Offer

Title: A Better Offer

Summary: Camille finds herself being forced into yet another blind date.

* * *

He knew it was old fashioned, but when he looked up from his tea and saw Camille standing there dressed to the nines, he stood up. He had heard she had another blind date, and he might not have been in Catherine's bar just for the tea. He was sort of hoping to catch a glimpse of the guy and gage her interest. A sad, pathetic way to spend the evening, he was fully aware. But sometimes, well sometimes he thought she might like him a bit more than just a friend.

He realised that he had failed to reply to her greeting, so caught up was he in his admiration. She had one eyebrow raised, and he swallowed and said nervously, "Um, waiting for your date?"

"He appears to have stood me up," Camille said, with a small shrug. She didn't seem too bothered by the idea. "Or perhaps he came in, saw me, and changed his mind."

"He didn't see you," Richard said without thinking. Embarrassed, he looked down at the table and hoped Camille wouldn't ask why he thought that was the case. No man who saw her right now would be able to walk away. There were at least 6 men watching their exchange now.

She didn't push it. Instead she told him, "My mother is pretty furious. Something about how our children would have been beautiful."

"With your genetics I think that is guaranteed regardless." Christ where had that come from? Did Catherine spike his tea with something? Camille seemed as surprised to receive the intended compliment as he was that he had given it.

She smiled softly, and sat down at the table as she said, "I'll let _Maman_ know."

Richard sat down slowly opposite her, once again aware of how many men were watching her. "Um, you probably don't want to sit at the table with me looking like that for too long…"

Camille frowned, "Why not?"

"Uh, you know, people might get the impression you're here with me."

"I _am_ here with you." He suspected she was being deliberately dense, trying to make him say it.

He sighed in frustration and then explained, "They might think you are on a date with me."

"So?"

Now it was his turn to frown. He sat back and looked at her again – yes, he wasn't mistaken, she was definitely a beautiful woman way out of his league. "That doesn't bother you?" He asked.

"No, why would it?" She looked at him like he was being a fool. "I like spending time with you anyway, well when you aren't being grumpy…"

"I am not grumpy!" He interrupted.

"And especially when you are throwing compliments my way," she finished with a smile. Though he was glad that she liked the compliments, he immediately felt under pressure to produce more. She must have seen the anxiety on his face, because she added, "Not that I expect them to keep coming all evening. I'm not that vane."

He noticed Catherine wiping down the bar with a little more force than necessary, "Your mother does seem a bit angry, actually. Though she could probably easily find you a replacement date from the men in this bar, I think about half of them wish they were me right now."

"You're exaggerating!" She protested, prodding him in the arm. He realised he had managed to compliment her again without trying. Maybe she wearing one of those perfumes that are supposed to contain pheromones…no, wait, there was no scientific evidence base for that what-so-ever.

"What are you thinking about?" Camille asked.

So far, the replying without really thinking about it thing had been working quite well for him, it was about time something went wrong. "Pheromones," he told her.

She seemed to find his answer amusing, "And why would you be thinking about pheromones?"

He was saved from having to respond by Catherine arriving in an excited flurry at the table, "He's here! Oh Camille, he was late because of an emergency, but he is very apologetic. He's a Doctor you know," this last bit was addressed to Richard, and he felt a little like he was being put in his place. Why were they _always_ bloody doctors?

He thought, for a moment, that Camille looked disappointed. Then she seemed to mentally shake herself and said, "Ok, _Maman_. Two minutes." Catherine opened her mouth to berate her daughter for not going immediately, but Camille cut her off before she could, "I know, it's rude to keep him waiting, but Richard here has been doing his best to cheer me up when I thought I had been stood up so it would also be rude without saying goodnight properly." Catherine looked between the two of them, probably surprised by Camille's words, then seemed to acquiesce with a small huff of frustration.

"I hardly think you needed cheering up," Richard said. "You didn't seem that upset by the prospect of missing the date."

"Yes, I was pretty glad to get out of it," Camille admitted. "However that doesn't seem to be the case any longer, so I guess, you know, I should go."

"Right of course." Richard said, standing with her. "Unless _you_ stand him up," he said suddenly. Oh God, it was still happening.

Camille raised both eyebrows and asked, "Are you giving me a better offer?"

He gave a small shrug, then said as casually as he could manage, "Well remember when that chef got reported by his neighbour for spying because of his telescope but he really was just a keen astronomer? We sort of keep in touch. He said I could come to the restaurant anytime and he'd find me a table."

Camille looked like she was thinking back to the case, "Hang on, wasn't he a Michelin starred chef?"

"I think so, yes."

"Quick!" She said, grabbing his hand and dragging him towards the exit. "Before _Maman_ comes back!" He looked back and saw that Catherine has actually spotted them, and was watching their retreat from the bar with shock.

"Camille!" He cried, once they were out on the street. "Um, are you…I mean, I didn't really think you'd say yes. Or if you did, I sort of thought you'd say perhaps another time."

"No, let's go now! It's going to be fun!" She said, taking hold of his hand again.

"Yeah, well I hope you are right considering this could be my last night on earth."

"What do you mean?" She asked.

"Camille, your mother _is_ going to kill me."

She gave a small laugh, and stopped in the street in front of him. "That may well be true," she said, which did nothing to alleviate his fears. "But I'll make it worth your while."

Richard smiled. He was sure she could.


	6. The Fortune Telling Fish

Title: The Fortune Telling Fish

Summary: Little pieces of plastic _do not_ predict your personality type.

A/N: I realise it is well past Christmas, but what the heck, this is up all year round isn't it? I hope it translates for those of you outside of the UK.

* * *

Richard agreed to the team Christmas dinner, but specified it was on the condition they wouldn't make him wear the hat.

"Okay," said Camille. "Since we all have no clue what you are on about, that should be fine."

"The paper hat," he prompted, but still was the recipient of three blank stares. "From the cracker?"

"Oh I've seen that on the telly!" Fidel suddenly piped up. "I always wondered why everyone was wearing a strange hat. Is it a proper English tradition then?"

Richard felt a bit miffed they didn't seem familiar with Christmas crackers, but he supposed he shouldn't expect that just because Saint Marie was a British Overseas Territory it would have all the British traditions. The lack of decent tea should have been clue enough. Not to mention the fact it was so very recently _French_. "Well, yes, they are rather. But don't worry, the paper hats, awful jokes and cheap toys are something I am sure I can live without."

* * *

Two days later, Camille walked into her Mother's bar looking triumphant as she waved a box of Christmas Crackers above her head, "Look what I found!"

"Awesome, I really want to have a go at one," Fidel said happily. Dwayne looked vaguely interested, but didn't seem particularly bothered. Camille stared at him expectantly. When he didn't react in the manner she was clearly hoping for, she huffed.

"Aren't you pleased?" She half-whined, giving him a significant look.

"I seem to remember specifically say I _didn't_ want to wear the hat, so…"

"But you also said they were an essential English tradition!"

"Which I could live without." He reminded her.

She threw herself into the chair, slamming the box down with enough force to clearly indicate her anger, and he felt a little twinge of guilt. She had probably gone to a lot of effort to hunt them down. There was an awkward silence during which Fidel and Dwayne shared a significant look and Richard attempted to judge just how annoyed Camille was. With a small sigh, he said lightly, "So you know, um, maybe we could just pull them now rather than at the actual dinner?"

Camille looked up from her sulk (God she was so childish sometimes) and after a tense moment seemed willing to accept the compromise. She tore open the box with something akin to glee and passed everyone a cracker each.

"Right," Richard began, hoping that by adding a little explanation he could keep Camille in a good mood. "Whoever gets the largest part of the cracker when they are pulled is the winner. Though usually you make sure everyone gets one each anyway."

Camille held out her cracker to a bemused looking Dwayne, who tugged at it. At the CRACK, Camille physically jumped, causing her to spew the contents of her cracker a considerable distance across the table and floor. Richard couldn't help it, he started laughing.

"Why didn't you warn me they made such a noise?" She asked furiously, probably more because she was embarrassed then genuinely annoyed at him.

"I rather thought it was implied by the name!"

Fidel and Dwayne were both grinning, and it wasn't long until Camille saw the funny side of it as well. Fidel politely retrieved her hat and 'prize' from under the table. The rest of them pulled the crackers, and Dwayne, Fidel and Camille all gamely put on the hats though Richard point blank refused. Camille could see he wouldn't change his mind, so didn't push him on the matter for once. He had to spend a good few minutes trying to explain a cracker joke that didn't quite translate. It was the first time he'd ever had to translate English into English.

Next, attention turned to the prizes. It was the usual collection of knickknacks that come in these things. Dwayne had received a plastic thimble, something Richard was sure he would never use. Fidel had a probably less than accurate set square and he had gotten a small plastic aeroplane that a child could easily choke on. Camille was staring rather intently at hers, reading a small sheet of instructions that had come with it.

"What is it?" Fidel asked curiously.

"It's a fortune telling fish! Though according to the instructions it doesn't really look like it tells your fortune, it actually tells you what sort of personality you have," she explained.

Richard couldn't let that pass, "It can't actually do that!"

She ignored him and instructed Dwayne to hold out his hand, which he did obediently. The fish sort curled up. "Let me see," Camille said, consulting the tiny scrap of paper that had come with the thing. "Moving head…no, not the tail either. Oh right, curls up entirely, apparently it means your passionate!"

"Well I guess it really works then," Dwayne said with a cheeky smile and wink that caused Richard to roll his eyes.

"Your turn!" Camille said brightly, turning to him.

"I don't think so!"

"Oh come on, don't be so grumpy." That woman always knew exactly what do say in order to goad him. With an irritated sigh he held out his hand, he supposed nothing to bad could come of it. Camille happily dropped the little plastic fish into his palm where it proceeded to curl up tightly, much more than it had with Dwayne. This amused her greatly. With one raised eyebrow she commented, "Well, it looks like you're _much _more passionate than Dwayne!"

Ignoring the smirks of his fellow officers, Richard decided a little education was in order, "Camille, as I said before it cannot actually tell your fortune, or your personality or whatever it is it claims to do. It is a piece of sodium polyacrylate, a super absorbent polymer that grabs onto water molecules causing it to change its shape. The difference between Dwayne and I that affected this fish was access to water molecules not personality!"

It didn't look like Dwayne and Fidel had quite followed his explanation, and Camille was staring at him. Eventually she said, with a small sigh, "Oh Richard, would you honestly rather we think you sweatier than more passionate?"

Well, when she put it like that, it wasn't the most attractive of conclusions, but that was beside the point, "No, I would rather you didn't think a cheap toy had some sort of mystical power, and thought about things a little more logically!"

He got the feeling he may have rather ruined the evening with his practicality. Eventually Camille said, with a small smile, "Well, I suppose that doesn't necessarily mean you _aren't_ passionate…" She was trying to rile him again, but it wasn't going to work.

"Yeah, well I am afraid you will need something other than the fish to prove that."

"Oh, I can think of a few experiments…"

Even as he blushed and tried to ignore the amused looks of Fidel and Dwayne, Richard had to admit that he had rather walked into that one.

* * *

A/N: I once gave some crackers to my Muslim housemates who, like Camille, did not expect the bang. It was really quite amusing.


	7. Books about Books

Title: Books about Books

Category: Slice of Life, Friendship, Not much plot

Summary: Camille doesn't understand why Richard would read books about books.

* * *

When Camille sits down across from him as he is taking his time over his post-work cup of tea, he realises it would be rather rude to continue reading. He reluctantly places the book down on the table. It's strange, really, he doesn't particularly like Nick Hornby's works of fiction but enjoys his "Stuff I've been reading" books. Camille, ever curious, immediately picks up and begins to flick through the book he has just put down.

After reading the blurb, she frowns, and asks, "Is this a book about the books somebody else is reading?"

"Yes, it is sort of like a reading diary I suppose," he confirms. When she continues to frown he asks, "What, what is it?"

"Why would you read a book about books?"

He isn't sure he understands the question, "What do you mean?"

"Well," she begins. "You read all the time. Loads of books, fiction and non-fiction. Crime, Classics, Popular Science, History, Mythology, Geology…"

Richard decides to cut in before she just starts naming all the genre she can think of, irrespective of if he reads books belonging to them or not, "So you think that because I read a great variety of books belonging to different genres, it is therefore strange I would read, as you put it, 'books about books'?"

She looks frustrated with him, as if he is the one asking the stupid question, "Why don't you just tell me why you are reading it?"

"Well, I enjoy them and they give me ideas on what to read next."

"See!" She cries, triumphant. "That is exactly what I thought you were going to say. And the point I was trying to make was you read so much how could you possibly run out of ideas of what to read next?"

He is frustrated with her now, "I just like reading, ok? Can I not just read what I want to? I agreed to stop commenting on your choices!" Her collection of books about time travelling Vikings who train as US Navy S.E. had been a bit of a shock to him when he had been browsing her shelves waiting for her when he, for once, had been picking her up for work. To be fair, she had seemed as embarrassed about him discovering them and he was about finding them.

Camille drops _Housekeeping Vs. The Dirt_ and raises her hands in defence, "Okay, okay, sorry I said anything." Then, after a few moments, continues, "Though only _you_ would get ideas for books from a book. Everyone else uses Goodreads now you know."

He concentrates on his tea for a few moments, and then takes the bait, "What is that, then?"

"It's an app," He doesn't do 'apps' and is about to remind her of his, but she realises and continues hurriedly, "Not just an app, a proper website as well. You can put in all the books you have read, and you can rate them, and then it looks at those books and how you have rated them to make you recommendations."

"It would take me forever to enter all the books I've read," he says dismissively.

She has pulled out her phone now, probably intending to give him a live demonstration, "Well you don't have to add _every_ book. You could add the ones you really like, the ones you'd give 5 stars to, then maybe some ones you hated for contrast and then have a look at the results. So come on, what is the Great Reader's favourite book then?"

He hesitates, and Camille does not fail to notice, she jumps in immediately, "Come on, surely you must have a favourite book?" The question is met by further silence as he struggles to form an answer. "Or is there some reason you don't want to tell me, perhaps it is embarrassing? I would have imagined it would be something like _David Copperfield_ or _Murder on the Orient Express…"_

"That is a good book," He interrupts. "Though I actually prefer _The Murder of Roger Ackroyd._" He is rather hoping Camille will accept this and type it into that damn app, but she is too clever and realises he is still not talking about his _favourite_ book.

"Don't try to distract me! So _is it_ something embarrassing? Maybe something meant for a woman! _Bridget Jones' Diary? Confessions of a Shopaholic? The Time Traveler's Wife?"_ She pauses, and with both eyebrows raised, suggests, "_Fifty Shades of Grey?_"

"I think we both know that would appear on _your _recommendations list," he retorts quickly, and he does notice a little blush creep into her cheeks. Since Camille is managing to come up with suggestions he judges to be far more embarrassing than the truth, he decides to just admit it, "It's _Persuasion_." She looks at him blankly. "It's one of Jane Austen's lesser known novels," he says with a small sigh.

Camille seems delighted, "Jane Austen? As in _Pride_ _and Prejudice_, that Jane Austen?"

"Yes, that Jane Austen."

"And is it a romance as well?" She is grinning, and he knows he will not live this down for a long time. He should have made up a more suitable answer, but she would have been able to tell he was lying.

"Yes, I suppose that is how it would be categorised."

She claps her hands, "What's the plot then?"

He doesn't really want to tell her, "Can't you look it up on that app of yours?"

"Yes," she admits readily. "But I'm interested in _your_ interpretation of the plot." She leans forward expectantly, and he sighs in resignation.

"Young Naval officer proposes to girl he loves, but he is about to go off to war and he doesn't have any sort of fortune so girl is persuaded to break the engagement by her Godmother despite her feelings. He returns 8 years later rich and successful. She is still single. He thinks he hates and resents her, but finds he is still in love with her. She thinks he has moved on and is now in love with somebody else, but still feels the same way about him."

"And?" Camille asks, clearly keen to know if it all ends happily.

"Well I wouldn't want to ruin the ending, you might decide to read it."

She grins, "Let me guess, perhaps you hope when they eventually ship you back to the UK with all your success of working here on Saint Marie some woman will come running back to you, having realised her terrible mistake!"

He puts down his tea, crosses his arms and tries to think of a reply to that. He stopped having dreams along those lines a long time ago, knows the subject of his previous obsession is now married and quite possibly no longer in the UK. He's definitely over it. But Camille's teasing comment had reminded him of the time when something along those lines had been his dearest wish.

"I'm sorry I didn't mean to, um, bring up bad memories or anything…" she says, it is clear she is uncomfortable with having made him uncomfortable.

"Some things only happen in fiction, and one of those would be any woman who's managed to escape me coming back!" It is meant to be a joke, but he hasn't managed a jovial tone, so instead of a smile she gives him a look full of sympathy. He knows that these past few minutes will poison the rest of the evening now, and that they are unlikely to find their way back to the easy banter of earlier, so he excuses himself and goes home.

* * *

She appears in his doorway the next morning to pick him up, early as usual. "I read _Persuasion_," she announces.

"In one evening?" he asks in disbelief, he knows she is not exactly a speed reader.

"Fine, I read part of it and then I watched the BBC adaption on the internet," she confesses but doesn't seem particularly ashamed by her admission. "I will finish it though! And you know, I think I might actually prefer Captain Wentworth to Mr Darcy."

"I don't think many women would agree with you," he tells her as he hunts around for the tie he wants to wear that day.

"I'm not most women."

There is a force behind those words, as if she is trying to get some sort of message through to him, but he isn't quite sure what it is. "No, you're not," he says eventually. Then he spots the tie and grabs it, happy they will soon be on their way to work where solving crimes may prove distracting enough to stop him obsessing over what she might have meant.

"I bought you a present!" Today is apparently a day for surprising announcements.

"Why?" He asks. "It isn't my birthday. And it's not Christmas. Is there some festival I have missed?"

"It's not...I mean it doesn't need to be…! Urgh, it's just a present, ok?" She is angry with him, which puzzles him further, but then her behaviour so often leaves him mystified. He takes the brown paper package she has shoved under his nose and instantly realises it is a book. He hopes it isn't _Fifty Shades of Grey_. He unwraps it carefully, and as soon as he sees the titles he knows what sort of gift this is – it's an apology gift. Entirely unnecessary, but he finds he is touched all the same.

He waves the copy of _What to Read Next_ and says, "Thank you." He wants to add 'you didn't have to' or something similar, but he thinks that might hurt her feelings. "I finished my book last night so, you know, I guess I'll actually be reading this next!"

It's an awful joke that doesn't even deserve a hint of a smile, but she gives him one anyway. Nobody else would. But then she isn't like other women, is she?

* * *

A/N: I like reading books about books.


	8. Bad Dreams

Title: Bad Dreams

Summary: Sometimes dreams can seem so real that you need that reassurance that they weren't.

A/N: Timeline wise, this occurs some point between series one and series two.

* * *

Richard thought people only sat up when they woke from a dream on the television, it had certainly never happened to him before. Well, not until tonight. He found he was sitting up in bed, his hands had balled up so he was clutching fistfuls of the sheet. He was covered in sweat, and it had nothing to do with the heat for once. He thought he might be on the edge of a panic attack or something similar – having never had one before he was just guessing really. He certainly felt panicked, that much he knew. Some logical part of his brain was desperately repeating the mantra 'it was just a dream' but at the moment it was losing out to some stronger, perhaps more primal, instinct that couldn't get over how very, very real the dream has seemed.

He didn't know what part of his brain it was that commanded his arm to reach out and grab his mobile from beside the bed and dial Camille's number. He was almost as surprised to hear her voice when she picked up as she sounded to have received the very early morning call.

"Richard?" Camille answered, sounding half asleep. "What is it? Is everything all right?"

"I called you," he said stupidly, still not quite believing what he had done.

"Yes," she replied, drawing the word out. Perhaps she thought she was dreaming. "And I answered. Did you have a reason for calling at, oh God, ten to five in the morning?"

"It was an accident," he said quickly, though if she asked how he had managed to do so he had no explanation.

"Right," she certainly didn't sound like she believed him.

"I think I might have been half asleep…" he offered weakly.

"Do you often sleep phone people?" She asked, there seemed to be a note of amusement in her tone.

"Well, I, um…" He didn't know how to respond and seriously considered just hanging up and praying she never mentioned the incident again. After all, he had gotten what his brain clearly wanted, the knowledge that Camille was alive and well.

"It was a horrible scene, wasn't it?" The rapid change of topic took him by surprise but he still knew exactly what she was talking about, even if he wasn't 100% sure why she had brought it up. The descriptor "horrible" didn't really do the murder scene they had worked yesterday justice. The victim, a single woman in her thirties, had clearly suffered and taken a long time to die. Police officers usually find ways to shake the job off at the end of the day, things to get them by outside of work, but this particularly murder seemed to have affected them all, and they had all remained sombre through the rest of the day.

"Yes, it was," he replied eventually – aware that pause before he had done so was probably noticeable.

"Sometimes," she began. "I dream about scenes." Richard constantly underestimated just how perceptive Camille Bordey was. Or perhaps that had just been a stab in the dark, but he somehow doubted it. Without him saying anything, she had somehow figured out why he had called. He had indeed dreamed about the scene, except on this occasion his subconscious had kindly replaced the victim with Camille and he woke terrified the dream may actually have been real.

"You do?" He half asked, trying not to give anything away. Though she might know, or think she knew, why he had called he wasn't the sort of person who would be willing to admit to it. Not to her at, or to any sort of therapist, but maybe to the lizard. Still, he found himself immensely relieved to find he wasn't the only one who suffered from such nightmares.

"Yes, for weeks after we investigated Angelique's death I had this recurring dream about her taking her own life," she confessed. "It made me so sad she had to go that far you know. I hated her dying alone like that."

"You never told me that." He didn't really know why she would, actually, but he found he did not like the idea of her having suffered without sharing it with anyone.

"Well, I didn't really know you that well then," was her response. It was a fair one at that.

"Right, yes, of course," he felt a bit silly now, expecting her to have placed trust in him at a time when they were still only just learning to be civil with each other. Though he had always sort of felt that was the case where they had started to learn each other's rhythms and processes, actually worked synergistically rather than antagonistically. He suddenly felt the urge to add, "I wouldn't have judged you."

"I know you wouldn't," Camille said softly. "If it was now I probably would tell you. You know the worst thing about those dreams is that they can seem really real as well, can't they?"

"Yes," he agreed, and then winced. Camille was also very good at interrogations.

She surprised him though, didn't jump on it directly the way she would with a suspect, but then he supposed he wasn't actually being accused of any kind of crime. "Sometimes it is nice to have a little reassurance they weren't real."

"Mmm," he responded, vague enough he hoped it seemed like he was confirming or denying nothing. It was probably time he let her go, not only because he had already disturbed her unnecessarily enough, but also because he was terrified of what else he might reveal. "I, um, should let you go back to sleep," he said awkwardly, as the full force of the embarrassment of calling his DS at five in the morning to confirm his bad dreams were not real hit him again. "Sorry to have woken you. Um, Good Night, or um, Good Morning."

He wasn't going to wait for a reply, just hang up, just she jumped in quickly and asked, "Are you going back to sleep then?"

Actually, given the time and the fact he normally got up between six and seven anyway, he didn't really see the point, "No I might as well get up now. You know me, bit of an early riser anyway."

"Well, I was going to get up in an hour to go for a run anyway, so I might not bother going back to sleep either." There then followed another awkward pause as Richard didn't really know how to respond to that. Eventually Camille continued, "Or I could forget that idea and you could come over for breakfast. I have those frozen _pain au chocolat_ things you bake in the oven. Though you can't tell _Maman_ because she'll lecture me."

Richard was sure that she must be just being polite, "That's very nice of you but I wouldn't want to put you to any bother or disturb your current plans plus I have plenty of food here so…"

"RICHARD!" She interrupted his rambling, which was probably for the best because he hadn't actually figured out a way to end his refusal. "I would _like_ you to come over for breakfast. You have the car and would have to pick me up later anyway, so you might as well come over a bit earlier and have some food. I even have tea."

He was torn now, because she sounded really quite sincere in her invitation, but he was still certain she couldn't possibly really want him there. "It would still be disturbing your plans," he began, but was cut off again.

"Be here by six!" She snapped, and hung up the phone.

Richard was pretty sure he was the one who was supposed to give the orders but that last statement had, well, sounded rather final.

* * *

Camille wasn't sure if he would turn up. She could think of several reasons why he might stay away – she probably hadn't helped matters by getting frustrated by his so very English attempts to refuse her offer, probably believing she was just being polite, and practically ordering him to come to breakfast. She stared at the little _pain au chocolat_ laid out on the baking tray and ready to go in the oven. If he didn't turn up, she knew that she could quite easily eat all six. She would claim it was so they didn't go to waste (they went stale fast) but it would actually just be a rare instance of her comfort eating.

When she realised it was him calling her, she had assumed there was some sort of crime that needed their attention. Once she had quickly established that was not the case she was instantly curious as to why he had rung – she didn't believe the 'accidental' phone call explanation for one second. Camille's undergraduate degree had been Cognitive Neuroscience. She had used to say psychology, a phrase more people were familiar with, but Richard used to call psychology a 'soft science', so she had switched to using the course's proper title and making a point of saying how it was actually a BSc and not a BA. Richard had shut up after that. The degree she held in no way made her an expert, but she liked to think that her training had given her pretty good instincts.

It had been a bit of a stab in the dark, bringing up the crime scene and mentioning dreams – but it was quite an educated one. It had not taken much to figure out she was on the right track, but she didn't push him to confess – she could tell he was embarrassed already and probably didn't want to talk about it. Her main aim was to let him know it was okay, and that he wasn't the only one. Camille hoped she had managed to at least achieve that.

Camille also didn't think he had _just_ dreamed about the scene. As horrible as it had been, she doubted a dream about it would cause him to call her unless some part of the dream had concerned herself. Camille's subconscious had done cruel things to her in the past. She had often found victims replaced by close friends and family, or dreamt the killer has struck again - this time closer to home. A few weeks ago she had woken in a state of panic, after dreaming that Lily Thomson (whom, they had learned that day, was putting in an appeal) had come back and killed Richard. It has taken a lot of willpower for her not to get in the car and drive straight out to his shack to check up on him. When she did go to collect him the next day, she found she couldn't help stealing glances at him, until he had eventually asked if he had something on his face. For the rest of the day she had to make a concerted effort not to touch him as she still felt a desperate need to reassure herself he was in fact fine.

The dream had, perhaps ironically, been a bit of a wakeup call for her. She had realised a long time before that she no longer despised Richard in the way she had when they first began to work together. No, despite his resistance that she felt was more defensive than obstinacy, she now thought of them as friends. Her reaction to the dream though, the terror she had felt when she thought something might have happened to him, well that had caused her to realise that she was half way in love with him. It had been a complete shock to her, she had no idea when it had started and no explanation for _why_ him. Yes, she could list a great many things about him she did like – but he had just as many attributes that drove her crazy. But on those rare occasions when he smiled, or even rarer laughed, her heart would beat faster and she would find herself smiling as well. She was acutely aware of the effort he would sometimes make to try to get her to laugh, and found the attention undeniably flattering. And she couldn't hide her admiration for his skills as a Detective, the way he could take a thousand piece puzzle provided by a murder and solve it – despite not having the picture on the box.

In other words, Camille Bordey was a lost cause.

It wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing, falling for somebody so unexpected so unexpectedly, but if there was one area where her instincts were useless it was Richard's feelings towards her. Yes, he tried to make her laugh and yes, he had learned to put up with her playfulness rather than berate her for it – but they weren't enough to leave her confident he liked her as anything more than a friend. Even if he had had a bad dream involving her, and had felt the need to reassure himself she was okay, well that couldn't be taken as conclusive evidence either. Camille had seen his awkward interactions with women he found attractive, and he never acted that way with her. She had to conclude there was a good chance he didn't think her pretty.

As she filled a jug with water, she caught her reflection in it, and wondered if she should have bothered putting on makeup after all. Well, she would have done so for the day if he had been coming or not…though perhaps she may have made a little less effort. She glanced at her watch, 2 minutes to six and she had told him to be here by six. She decided she would give him until at least quarter past six before she gave up though.

She didn't have to wait that long. The almost hesitant knock at the door sent her heart rate rocketing, and Camille suddenly realised how rather like a date this felt. She paused a moment to berate herself for thinking like that, then hurried to open the door in case Richard changed his mind and tried to escape.

"Hello," he said, looking about as nervous as she felt. "I, um, brought juice?" He waved the carton of orange in front of her, and Camille couldn't help but smile. It was like the breakfast equivalent of brining wine to dinner.

"That was very thoughtful, thank you, I had actually run out of juice," she accepted the carton off him and they sort of just looked at each other for a few moments, before she realised she should move so he could actually come in. She pressed her back against the wall so he could squeeze past. As he did so, his hand somehow came to rest on her hip for a moment. It was clearly an unconscious action, and when he realised where his hand was he pulled it away like he had been burnt. His eyes leapt to hers, and she gave him a smile that she hoped was both reassuring and perhaps a little encouraging before indicating he should make his way into the kitchen with a gesture of her head.

She shut the door and leaned against it as she watched him walk away. She felt more confident in her theory now, and though she would not wish such dreams on anyone, she had to wonder if he would draw similar conclusions from the experience as she had. She had a little hope now, hope that she might not be the only one half way in love.


	9. 10000 miles out

Title: 10,000 miles out

Summary: A detainee guesses Richard's Nationality, and gets it very wrong.

A/N: This has no particular plot, just a little teasing and flirting really.

* * *

The problem with being a Detective Inspector in a very small force is that you sometimes find yourself having to do the sort of duties you thought you had left behind when you joined CID. For example, rounding up the particularly rowdy and, for the majority, completely high party of individuals who had decided setting off fireworks in the nature reserve was a terribly good idea. Richard wasn't even sure where they were going to put them all. He did find something small to take comfort in though, they were all members of a group from Guadeloupe, and in their drunken drug addled state some of them couldn't even remember if they knew English, let alone speak it if they could, so Camille was having to work twice as hard as him. He had no idea what she was saying, but he certainly recognised the authoritative tone, and many of the revellers became quite meek in her presence after a few harsh words. It was both impressive and oddly attractive.

Dwayne whistled and pointed at the suspect he held, meaning he had found whoever had supplied to methamphetamines Richard strongly suspected most of the individuals had taken. If that was the case most of the people here would probably be let go with a warning, though he wouldn't mind finding who had brought the fireworks – he thought there was potential for charges there as well. Fidel was somewhere trying to arrange them additional transport. Richard thought it wise to assume this lot wouldn't make it back to their hotel under their own steam.

Richard was about to go over and join Dwayne but on the way very nearly fell flat on his face when he tripped over a man laying supine on the ground. The man muttered in annoyance, so clearly wasn't unconscious. The near fall had caught Camille's attention, but at her raised eyebrow he merely flapped a hand to let her know he didn't need any assistance.

"Alright, up you get," he said, reaching down and half heaving the individual into a sitting position. As soon as he let go though he fell straight back down. "You can hardly sleep there."

"Whhhhhhy not?" He complained. Another French accent, but this one clearly did speak English.

"Because this, Sir, is a nature reserve and not a hotel." Richard made no attempt to keep the exasperation out of his tone.

"But a nature reserve," the man began to explain, in what Richard thought was supposed to be a patient tone. "It is a sort of hotel for animals. And humans are a kind of _animaux_. So voila! This _is_ a hotel!"

Though the man clearly thought he had a logical argument, Richard wasn't buying into it. "A nature reserve is not a hotel for animals," he told the man firmly.

"Whhhhhy not?" He cried again.

"Because the animals don't have to pay to stay here, like they would if it was a hotel." Camille, who was clearly listening, looked at him in surprise. This caused Richard to realise he was actually attempting to argue with a drunk about why nature reserves were not hotels for animals.

"Hang on!" The gentlemen cried, finally managing to sit up under his own steam. "I don't think you're from round here!"

"No, because this is a nature reserve, and nobody lives here but animals, as we have discussed." He heard Camille give a small snort of laughter. When he looked around he realised this was the last person left to get to their feet. "Are you getting up then?" When the man showed no inclination to stand, Richard decided to speed up the process by grabbing the man under one arm and hauling.

There was a vague attempt at co-operation as and the man lumbered to his feet. "No! Not I meant what." Well that was an originally constructed sentence. "You aren't from the Caribbean, are you?"

He was unable to resist the urge to roll his eyes. "Gosh, you have caught me out there," he said dryly. "Tell me, what gave it away?"

"Your accent!" He replied with a grin, needing to lean heavily on Richard in order to stay upright. It was not an experience he was particularly enjoying, though his fellow officers did seem to be amused watching his predicament. Before he could shout out an order to one of them for a little assistance, the man asked, "So are you Australian?"

This caused him to pause. Nope, he had heard him correctly, the man had just asked if he was Australian. "What?"

"Australian!" He cried, even louder. Then started bopping up and down as he half sung, "Are you from a land down under?"

Another drunk joined in cheerfully, "Where women glow and men plunder!"

Richard decided he better interrupt before the whole lot of detainees joined in, "No, you are about 10000 miles out." He began to consider arresting this man after all.

Camille spoke from behind him. "You can't arrest him just because he thinks you're Australian," she said quietly. "Besides, the van is here now!" He turned to look at her, found she was smiling cheekily at him. There was no way he was going to admit he had been considering just that, so he chose to just ignore the comment. The small laugh she gave told him she knew she was right anyway.

"If you aren't Australian are you from New Zealand then? Is it racist to have called you an Aussie when you are a Kiwi?" The man asked as Richard half led/half dragged him in the direction of the police transport that had arrived.

"New Zealand and Australia are only around 1400 miles apart, not 10000!" He cried, exasperated. "So no, I am _not_ from New Zealand."

"Ok, you win, where are you from then?"

"England!" He said. Richard had expected the man to acknowledge his stupidity and cry something along the lines of 'Of course! How could you be from anywhere else?', but he was mistaken.

"England?" Came the incredulous response. "You sound far more like an Aussie to me!"

Richard gave the man what may have been a slightly harder shove than necessary to encourage him into the back of the van, and then shut the doors firmly. From the back of the van another chorus of 'Do you come from a land down under' began, and he closed his eyes and wished he was at home, _alone_. When he opened them again, Camille was standing in front of him arms crossed and smiling, well, sort of fondly at him.

He couldn't help himself. "Do I _really_ sound Australian?" He asked in a rush, before he could stop himself. He didn't have an issue with Australians, but found the idea that he didn't necessarily sound English sort of uncomfortable.

Her expression became serious and she said sincerely, "Richard Poole, you are the most English man I have ever met, and that includes your accent. No, I don't think you sound even remotely Australian."

"Can you tell him that?" He asked, hooking a thumb towards the van.

"Richard, he is drunk and high, I am not sure it would get through." He gave a small shrug, she had a good point there.

"I bet you lot wish they'd sent an Australian instead of me, though."

She raised both eyebrows at this, "Why would you say that?"

"Well, you know, Australians are a bit more sort of, fun loving I guess. Not reserved anyway. And they'd cope better with the heat. And the insects. And the snakes."

"That may well be true," Camille said, and he was surprised how despondent it made him feel. He stared at the ground and tried to think of a way to change the topic. But then she continued, "But they wouldn't be you, would they?"

He was going to tell her that that was rather the point, but when he looked up he she was wearing the expression she reserved when she was trying to get him to, well, he still wasn't 100% sure what she wanted from him. But anyway, he figured out the comment was meant to be a compliment, anyway.

"Right, yeah," he mumbled in response.

She seemed to realise she had made him unconformable. Perhaps in an effort to dispel the awkwardness, she announced cheerfully, "Mind, there is one way you are Australian, you _do_ have a tendency to say crickey!"

"The Australians don't have a monopoly on that term you know!"

"I didn't say they did," she said, holding up a hand to placate him. Then, with the cheeky smile he'd quickly come to like a little too much, said, "Come on, Steve Irwin, I'll drive you home."

He frowned. "Who's Steve Irwin?"

Camille sighed.

* * *

A/N: I apologise for the Aussie stereotypes!


	10. The Moro Reflex

Title: The Moro Reflex

Summary: Richard demonstrates his surprising knowledge of babies…but also demonstrate some distinct gaps.

A/N: You may want to look up Moro reflex on wiki. The video of the baby doing it whilst asleep is particularly cute.

* * *

Oh God, he was being handed the baby again.

Technically, like other police officers, Fidel was not entitled to paternity leave – but he had annual leave and Richard signed off with no qualms for him to take two weeks once Rosie arrived. That leave was nearly over, but before it did end Fidel and Juliet had come into the centre of Honore to register the child's birth. Apparently, whilst filling out the paperwork, Rosie had become fussy and required a feed. Juliet had come to Catherine's to do so, and Richard had stayed as far away as possible. He fully supported a woman's right to breast feed in public, but he still rather wished they wouldn't do so in front of him. Catherine and Camille sat with her and chatted away like the woman was not practically half naked in front of them.

After everything was put away, and the baby burped, Juliet and Camille approached his table. He stood and smiled politely at the baby, making some vague but appropriate comment about how beautiful she was. Then Juliet's phone had rung and, unable to retrieve it from her pocket whilst holding the child, she had practically dumped the tiny thing into his arms. His heart rate skyrocketed, but once he felt that her weight was quite secure he calmed down a bit. He was pretty certain he could manage not to drop her for a minute or so. Camille wasn't bothering to hide her amusement at his discomfit at being left literally holding the baby. Rosie was practically comatose after her feed, and completely oblivious to the fact she had changed hands.

"That was Fidel," Juliet told them both as she hung up. "I forgot to give him our marriage certificate, it's in my bag. You can hold her for ten minutes whilst I run over there, right?"

Ten minutes was about 9 minutes longer than Richard expected to have to hold Rosie. However, she was fast asleep, and he was pretty certain from the way Camille cooed over Rosie that she would willingly take over responsibility if he asked her, so he just nodded mutely. Juliet stooped to kiss her daughter on the forehead and then hurried out of the door. Richard gently lowered himself back down into his seat, watching the baby's face, but Rosie remained asleep. He looked up to find Camille was smiling at him.

"What?" He asked, a little uncomfortable by the attention she was paying him.

"You looked _so_ scared when she passed you the baby," Camille said. "But look at you now, you're fine!"

"Yes, it's strange, both times I've been terrified of dropping her. I mean, I don't think that would make me very popular with Fidel and Juliet, would it?" Camille just smiled at his confession. "But then once I actually have her it's sort of like some switch turns on in my brain and I realise I'm not going to drop her."

"Well it appears you have some paternal instinct, who would have thought?" Camille teased him.

Richard chose to ignore her. Whilst examining Rosie again to see if she was still fine, he had noticed something odd. Frowning, he asked, "Why has she got socks on her hands?"

Camille sighed, "What was I saying about paternal instinct? They aren't _socks_, Richard, they are scratch mittens."

"Scratch mittens? Why on earth would she need those? Do new-borns attack people?"

"There nails are quite sharp, they are largely to stop the baby accidentally scratching herself," Camille explained patiently. Richard found it hard to believe a baby would be born with sharp nails, and so gently removed a mitten to investigate further whilst Camille sat back and looked at him disbelievingly. The nails were in fact rather sharp.

"Hmm," He said, replacing the mitten. "Well I suppose you learn something new every day."

Rosie's face wrinkled up in her sleep suddenly, but then relaxed again. This caused Camille to laugh at the funny face, "Do you think she dreams?"

"Up to 80% of new born sleep is R.E.M so yes, she dreams," Richard informed her. Camille looked a little surprised by the fact.

"Well what do you think she dreams about?"

"That I don't know." However at the moment Rosie suddenly threw both arms out to the side, before drawing them back in, which did provide him with a clue about what she was dreaming about. "Or perhaps she is dreaming about falling?"

Camille had caught the actions of the baby, but Richard's conclusion rather confused her, "Falling?"

"Yes, that thing she did with her arms, it's called the Moro reflex. When a baby is startled or feels they are dropping they will throw out both arms, palms spread, and then draw them back in. It is presumed to be left over from an earlier stage of our evolution, to allow a baby to grab on to a branch or something if they fell. Here, I'll show you again." He stood and carefully shifted Rosie so she was perpendicular to his chest. He then proceed to bend over very quickly, causing her again to flail her arms out. This time she woke, giving him a look that could only be described as startled. It was quite cute actually, and Richard found himself smiling down at her.

"Richard!" Camille protested. She was trying to give him a disapproving look, and he supposed it wasn't really his place to demonstrate neonatal reflexes with his colleague's baby. He was pretty certain she was less annoyed then she was letting on though, because of the giggle she had inadvertently let out when Rosie had obliged them with a second performance of the reflex and the fact that she could barely suppress a smile now. "I wouldn't let Juliet see you doing that, she'll never let you hold Rosie again."

"I'm sure I'll cope," he told her, though actually he thought he wasn't doing too badly…

"How can you know about Moro reflexes and R.E.M in babies and _not_ know what scratch mittens are?" Camille asked, shaking her head in disbelief.

He would have thought the answer was obvious, "The Central Nervous System is interesting, whereas babies' apparel is not." She laughed at that.

"You know, as well as interesting, it's pretty funny…" She tailed off, just looking at him, and Richard had a pretty good idea what she was after.

"You want me to get her to do it again?" Camille looked around, probably to confirm there was no sign of Fidel and Juliet, and then nodded enthusiastically.

He stood again, and the now awake (but still not crying, thankfully) baby gave him an almost suspicious look. "You ready?" He said to her, though it was more for Camille's benefit, he doubted Rosie could understand the warning. He dipped her down quickly again and achieved another perfect Moro reflex. When he stood back up though, he realised he and Camille were no longer alone.

"What are you doing?" Juliet cried, walking briskly over and firmly removing her baby from his arms.

"Um," Richard said, looking at Camille who too was busy biting her lip and looking guilty to help him out. "Just testing her reflexes?"

"I think we can leave that to the paediatricians!" Juliet cried, clearly angry with him. Richard was pretty sure that, as Camille had predicted, he had just held Rosie for the last time. Without any sort of farewell, Juliet turned and stormed from the restaurant.

Fidel hesitated though, and checking Juliet was out of ear shot said hurriedly, "Don't worry, Sir, I do that all the time when Juliet isn't looking. It is _really_ funny." He then ran off after his wife.

Well, at least only one of Rosie's parents hated him…

"That was your fault!" He said sharply to Camille.

She gave him a sympathetic look. "I'll put in a good word with Juliet, I'm sure I can bring her round," she promised. "I bet she'll even let you babysit one day!"

Richard made a face, just because he didn't mind holding a baby for ten minutes didn't mean he wanted to look after them for a whole evening. Camille read his thoughts, "Not ready for nappy changes yet?"

"I think I'll leave that to the professionals."


	11. February 15th

Title: February 15th

Summary: Some people prefer the day _after_ Valentine's.

A/N: Artistic licence used with the days of the week Valentine's falls on here. Also slight silliness warning!

* * *

Richard had been immensely glad Valentine's fell on a Saturday, which meant he could just hide out at his beach shack and avoid the whole thing. Well, at least for the actual day, he would have thought with the whole Erzulie festival thing Valentine's would be a relatively small affair - if celebrated at all. But no, from the start of February onwards the island started to cover itself in hearts and flowers and other decorations.

He had assumed Camille would be forced into another blind date, but Camille informed him that Valentine's was more for established relationships on Saint Marie. She seemed to despise Valentine's with a similar intensity to himself, which has surprised him. Camille had told him of her intentions to curl up, watch old movies and read a good book. Richard had informed her he planned to do a bit of star gazing. She'd shown a surprising interest, asking questions about what exactly he planned to look at, and for one wild moment he had thought that she was actually angling for an invitation. But why the hell would she want to spend any weekend with him, let alone Valentine's?

So he made no attempt to invite her, and decided he was imaging the fact she looked a little disappointed as they said goodbye.

* * *

He was the first one in Monday morning. Somebody had turned off the fans over the weekend and the office was sweltering. He headed straight to the fridge to retrieve cold water, but upon opening the door discovered the usually half empty appliance was entirely full. There were boxes and boxes and boxes of chocolate. Heart shaped boxes mostly, so clearly related to Valentine's Day. He knew Dwayne could be the subject of a lot of female attention, but he didn't think it was _this_ much. Bending over to examine the fridge properly, he realised there wasn't _anything_ in there except chocolate.

Richard heard Camille call out a greeting, and he stood up intending to call her over to look at the fridge, but before he could she started apologising.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I know I filled the fridge and took out the water! But they would melt if I didn't put them in!" She explained hurriedly.

It took him a moment to process that information, "You mean all this chocolate it _yours_?" She nodded, looking guilty. "Can't you keep it in your own fridge?" He asked as he glumly picked up the luke warm bottle of water that now stood next to the fridge, rather than in it.

She grimaced, "That is sort of full as well…"

Richard found himself suddenly overcome by an emotion he believed was jealousy. He refused to contemplate the meaning of it. However he couldn't resist commenting in the hopes of gaining a little more information. "Um," he began hesitantly. "I didn't realise you had that many male admirers."

Camille burst into laughter, which made Richard feel rather despondent. _Of course_ she had admirers, she could probably have her pick of any man on the bloody island. If he thought about it, she was probably single through her own choice – wanted to concentrate on her career or something. Women did that, right? Probably didn't like her mother forcing her on blind dates because she knew exactly what she wanted and that she could have it at any time. He was an idiot – and she was still laughing.

Embarrassed, he lashed out a little, "Ok, I get it, of course you have men after you." He brushed past her towards his desk, intending to bury his head in paperwork and ignore the sick feeling in his stomach.

"No! No, it's just, oh Richard, I bought them all myself." She had stopped giggling now, but was still smiling. "Though it is very sweet you think I could attract enough men to be _that_ inundated with gifts."

"Well, you know…" he wanted to say something like 'you are beautiful' or 'any man would be lucky to have you' - but that wasn't going to happen. To cover up his inability to finish the sentence he decided make further enquiries regarding the chocolate horde. "Why on earth did you buy so much chocolate?"

She perched on the edge of her desk and said brightly, "Oh I always go out every year on the day after Valentines! The best thing about the stupid holiday is the half price chocolate on the 15th."

"Right," he said, still not sure that fully explained the situation. "So, I can understand buying a few boxes, but you seem to have purchased enough to get you through a nuclear winter…And, by the way, in doing so have displaced the only thing I keep in the fridge which is water!"

"I know, I'm sorry! I fully intend to share the chocolates!" That actually went a long way towards making up for it and he suspected she knew that – Richard had suffered more than a little teasing on the subject of his sweet tooth. "I _did_ go a little…" He shot her a look at her use of the qualifier 'a little' and she corrected, "I did go completely overboard this year. I was a bit down, so I blame that."

Normally, Richard didn't like to enquire about people's emotions, because then he might have to deal with them. But Camille saying she had been feeling 'down' puzzled him, as she had seemed quite content with her weekend plans when they had spoken on Friday. That demanded further investigation. It had nothing to do with the fact that long ago he had realised he desperately cared about how Camille felt at any given moment.

"I thought you were quite looking forward to your weekend?" He asked casually.

Camille took her time responding to this, "Well, I was, but then I realised that there were things I would rather be doing, places I'd rather be, people I'd rather see…"

He was back to being confused again, "So why didn't you just do those things?"

Again, she seemed to consider her answer carefully, "They required…an invitation. Which I did not receive." His mind immediately leapt back to them sitting together in her mother's bar, his brief belief she had wanted to be invited over. Was that what she was referring to? The only way to be sure would be to ask, and that was never going to happen.

But perhaps he could drop vague hints of his own, "You should have just turned up anyway."

She looked at him in surprise, "Wouldn't that be a bit rude?"

Richard didn't look at her, instead he addressed his comments to the computer screen, "Well, you know, you're, um, well liked. People enjoy your company. I doubt anyone would mind if you just dropped by."

"I'll bear that in mind." He could hear the smile in her voice, a quick glance up confirmed he was correct – she actually looked rather pleased.

"Open the pralines first," he told her. Camille's face creased up in confusion. "From the fridge, get them out and then you can stick my water back in whilst you're at it."

"You want chocolate now?" She asked, aghast. "Richard it is half past eight in the morning!"

He looked at her and said, very seriously, "It is never too early for chocolate."

She let out a small laugh and retrieved the chocolates as instructed.

* * *

A/N: Now if you'll excuse me, I am off to see what chocolaty bargains I can hunt down!


End file.
